


Missing

by PrettyPurpleInk



Category: Death Note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11886837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPurpleInk/pseuds/PrettyPurpleInk
Summary: So this popped into my head while I was staying with my mom last week, and it wouldn't leave me alone! I actually have veryveryrough draft of 2 more parts/chapters to this…so, maybe let me know if you want to see them.I know that I have another work in progress, but it's run away from me, so… I chasing it, don't get me wrong, I'm not letting it get away, but it's fast and I have short legs. And asthma. And running hates me.Anyway, wasn't sure how to tag this without spoilers (for this and possibly upcoming parts) so if you've found this, Kudos!Enjoy!(Hopefully.)





	Missing

**Author's Note:**

> So this popped into my head while I was staying with my mom last week, and it wouldn't leave me alone! I actually have very _**very**_ rough draft of 2 more parts/chapters to this…so, maybe let me know if you want to see them. 
> 
> I know that I have another work in progress, but it's run away from me, so… I chasing it, don't get me wrong, I'm not letting it get away, but it's fast and I have short legs. And asthma. And running hates me. 
> 
> Anyway, wasn't sure how to tag this without spoilers (for this and possibly upcoming parts) so if you've found this, Kudos! 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> (Hopefully.)

Twenty four hour stores are like a whole other world, in the early hours of the morning; a world where people come in wearing pyjamas and buy weird combinations of stuff like cotton balls, jello mix and a Philips-head screwdriver.  
Turns out, people are too tired to be rude after midnight, and even if the way they meander down aisles like zombies is kinda creepy, working the night shift is pretty nice.

  


It's super rare to see a kid in the store after 10pm — unless it's a crying baby, carried by a desperate-looking person, searching for pacifiers or diapers or something — so I don't think it's _totally_ ridiculous for my heart to jump up into my throat when I turn around and see a kid staring at me. He's fair-skinned, with big, silvery-grey eyes, and the palest blond hair I've ever seen — so pale that it's nearly white; he's shivering, wearing what looks like an adults tshirt, and a pair of socks. And nothing else. The kid can't be older than six. 

I crouch down in front of him, smile, and use my best customer-service voice. "Hey, buddy. Y' need some help? Are you lost?" He nods, looking sorry for himself. "It's okay, I'll help you find your parents. My name's Matt," I point to my name tag and his eyes follow the movement. "What's your name?" The kid stares at me, looking kind of guilty, and doesn't say anything. "You don't wanna tell me? That's okay. Can you tell me your mom's name, maybe, or your dad's?" 

I half-expect him to come out with something like Mommy or Daddy, but he just frowns with this super thoughtful look on his face. After a minute, the thoughtfulness disappears, and he just looks sad as he shrugs his little shoulders. "You don't know?" _Don't all parents tell their kids stuff like that, in case of an emergency or whatever?_ "Did you come here with your mommy or daddy?" He shakes his head. "A babysitter?" And again. "A brother or sister? Aunt? Uncle?" And again. I can't help a little huff of frustration, but it's not his fault, he's just a kid and he's probably scared and kinda confused. "Well, you didn't come here by yourself, did you?" I try teasingly; maybe if I can make him laugh he'll loosen up and tell me something. 

  


But he doesn't laugh. 

  


_He nods_. 

  


For a second, I'm astonished. Then I'm angry. Who lets their kid escape the house wearing nothing but a tshirt and socks?! In. Winter. And the store isn't exactly in a residential area. How far did he come? Did he walk? Has anyone even noticed he's gone? Then I think, _maybe he made a break for it in the parking lot and ran in here_ , but no one's come in shouting for a lost kid… 

I sigh, lifting a hand to scratch the back of my head. I am not prepared for this. It's, like, two in morning, and I have no idea how to handle this, and kids are not my forte. "Okay…" His attention shifts from the Batman toys on the shelf, back to me. "Alright, little man. Let's find you something warmer to wear, and then we'll figure out how to get you home. Sound like a plan?" He smiles at me, just a little thing, but he whole face lights up.  
He reaches for me as I stand, hopefully holding out his hand. I smile back at him, gently curling my fingers around his chilly little hand. "C'mon, buddy." 

  


As we walk, I keep an eye out for anyone looking for a lost kid, just in case, but no one catches my eye.

All the lost-and-found stuff is kept behind the counter in the Returns Department, a four-counter-wide space that looks a little like a doctors office waiting room, sans wooden-bead-rollercoaster-thing. I lead him up to the _Staff Only_ door that grants access to the other side of the desk. As I turn around to tell him to _Stay right here_ , I see him staring in awe at the balloons on the other side of the room. "Do you want a balloon?" He turns his head and looks up at me, a silent question on his face, and points to the stand. "Yeah. Want one?" He nods so enthusiastically that I'm surprised his head doesn't pop off his neck. "Go ahead. Grab any one you want." They're all exactly the same, bright yellow with the store logo printed on them, but I've seen kids cry over be given one that was 'from the wrong side', so…

He glances at the stand again, then back at me, and when I nod he hurries across the room. When he reaches the stand, he looks at me over his shoulder, pointing to the balloon nearest to him. "Is that the one you want? You can have that one." He's so careful about extracting that it's almost funny.

He's slower about coming back, both hands on the balloon rather than the white, plastic stick it's attached to, staring at it with a little smile on his face. As he comes to a stop in front of me, he holds it up for inspection. "That's a good choice, dude," I tell him, and he grins proudly. After a moment, he decides to hold it by the stick, waving it around like a sparkler. He seems ridiculously amused by the sound it makes as it bounces off the front of the counter. "Wait right here, okay?" I don't get any kind of answer from him, but he seems so absorbed in repeating the noise, that I figure it's safe to turn around for a second. I keep an ear open for the noise as I open up the box.

I find a clean-looking zip-up hoodie near the top, and dare to give it a sniff test — doesn't seem right to have the kid hanging out in stinky borrowed clothes — lucky for both of us, it smells fine, not straight-out-the-machine, but clean at least.

He's crouched down, dragging the end of the stick over the carpet as I round the counter. "Alrighty, here we go, buddy. Put your balloon down for a sec, so we can put this on?" He stands, leaving his balloon on the floor, and slips his arms into the hoodie as I hold it for him. It dwarfs him. It's about as long as the tshirt, but the fit is far looser and his arms only make it about halfway down the sleeves. He beams flapping his arms, flinging the ends of the sleeves wildly around him.

"Alright, crazy little bird boy," I laugh. "Here, lemme fix the sleeves for you." He shakes his head excitedly, and runs to the other side of the room, the hoodie trailing behind him. "Wing-sleeves it is, then," I mumble, bending down to pick up the forgotten balloon. When I look back up, he's laying curled up on the floor, blinking drowsily as he looks at me. "Tired, buddy?" He nods slowly, eyes drifting shut. "Hey, c'mon, try to stay awake. We wanna get you home, right?" I get another, smaller, nod but it's too late, his eyes are shut.

I hear a soft sigh, and it's almost like I can _feel_ it — it feels like…resignation. 

And then, right before my eyes, the boy starts to _fade_ , paling until he's almost — no, _is_ — translucent…and then…he's _gone_ … 

  


  



End file.
